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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22888033">Still, Dark, &amp; Silent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/michelle_does/pseuds/michelle_does'>michelle_does</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Afterlife, Dark, Death, Fiction, Graphic Description, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Purgatory, Short One Shot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:00:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22888033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/michelle_does/pseuds/michelle_does</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story following the after-life of the Shepherd of Souls, a grim reaper style character in charge of guiding souls to the afterlife. But this story from the Shepherd might not be everything that it seems. </p>
<p>Warning: contains themes of death and one slightly graphic description of death.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Still, Dark, &amp; Silent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Still, dark, and silent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s what the world looks like during the moments immediately following death. For everyone and everything on the planet, once their pulse stops the world becomes dark, still, and silent. Good or evil, brave or cowardly, the way one lives their life will not matter in the moments shortly after dying. </p>
<p>Humans have spent most of their existence trying to cope with the fact that, someday, they will die themselves. The coping mechanisms have, well, varied throughout centuries but have all had the same common goal: to make accepting this fact of life easier. Whether through religion, laws, or just being a good person, a code of conduct has kept <em> some </em> set of morals in place. These morals will supposedly set your soul free in the afterlife, make you a better person, and lead to an eternity of happiness.</p>
<p>I can’t tell you what happens to your soul for eternity after you die. But I can tell you what happens between the moments after death and when your soul is set free. I am the Shepard of Souls after all.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It all started for me many years ago, thousands of years before you were born. A lot of passersby have asked me <em> why </em> I became the Bringer of Death but to be honest, even after all this time, I can’t tell you. Anyway, it all started when I was walking down the road on a warm summer day.<br/>
<br/>
I can remember that it was Summer because of the sun hanging in the sky, it was different than any other time of year. Something I would never experience again. As I kicked up red dust from the cracking ground below I began to notice something <em>different </em>about this road I’d traveled on for my entire life. </p>
<p>Instead of reaching my home within the normal amount of time, seven minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact, I’d passed a time of around ten minutes. It was such an absurdly off timing that I knew something had to be wrong, perhaps the heat of the day had slowed me down. But looking ahead and to the side of this road, I began to realize I hadn’t made any progress. Despite the fact that I’d been walking for ten whole minutes, I’d only made it a few steps forward from where I’d started my journey.<br/>
<br/>
Fearfully, I began to run. As I lifted my right leg from the ground to sprint toward home I was stopped, my foot stuck in place on the ground. Although unmoved, I felt that my leg was being eaten alive by the ground below. Almost like when you’re in a dream and attempt to run but are held back by the abilities of your sleeping body. Held in place by the paralysis of your own unconsciousness.<br/>
<br/>
As I began to struggle more of my body became paralyzed and hot, burned by the now setting sun. Knowing that nobody else was due to come down the path I worried I couldn’t get help in time, I began to scream but as quickly as I raised my voice it was silenced by my own body. It seemed there was nothing left for me to attempt at this point, at least nothing short of gaining my ability to run again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last thing I remember is the warmth of the dusty ground below my cheek as a stark contrast to the cold of my limbs. Closing my eyes for the last time I thought of the dinner I wanted to make that night, soup with bread, and how I wished I could have tasted it just once more. </p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, dark, and silent. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s exactly what I experienced just after dying for the first time. I guess you could say I was the first person to go through it, but someone needed to make sure it went smoothly. There was nobody around to wake me up though, I had to just <em> understand </em> when it was time. </p>
<p>In the entry-way, there was a table waiting for me. On top of the table were an envelope, a loaf of bread, and a bowl of finest soup I’d ever smelled. It was magnificent, better than anything I could have dreamed of for myself to dine on that night if I had made it home. And every bite was the perfect temperature as if crafted for the moment when I ate it. </p>
<p>Inside of the envelope was a lengthy message detailing that while my life above may be over, I wasn’t truly dead. Here, in this space between Life and the Afterlife, I have a job to do. When living beings pass on they need somewhere to go, somewhere to settle and process. Dying is hard not only on the body but on the soul. While I don’t take care of anything in regards to a physical body, I do shepherd the souls of all the world’s dead to their Afterlife. </p>
<p>Some go quietly, it’s a quick process and doesn’t require a lot of convincing to move them into along. Others are in disbelief, they need to tell me their stories of death, living, and everything in-between. I’ve made meals for sobbing soldiers and heart-broken harlequins, listening to the moanings of mimes and consoling constables. Everyone’s the same when it comes to death; they need to process. It’s just a matter of how long that processing takes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And for you, it looks like it hasn’t taken too long after all. See that light there? It’s the end of the room. As the Shepherd of Souls, I’m not allowed to walk into it, I can’t even <em>see </em>the light for myself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But you can, I can see it on your face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So go on, it’s time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Looking toward the light ahead you begin to step forward. Immediately you can tell that it feels different than the darkness before, this time things are moving, bright, and harmonious. </p>
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